Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to read this column over a cuppa and try not to chortle and spill it, or snort bournvita up your nose.

That's because some of the headlines this week are stranger than fiction. And some involve the future of our chocolate supply, which could be termed a Strange Twist of Flake, if it weren't for the fact that it's about Moro bars.
But firstly, a bunch of protesters have got away with trashing the spy satellite installation at Waihopai. Now because this is a mysterious, secret spy station, we have to be very careful about what is published. For the sake of national security, please read the rest of this with your eyes closed.
The security breach at this place is concerning from a number of angles and we could do with some advice from Mr Phelps (who has changed occupation from secret agent to land agent).
Those of you who know a lot about these spy issues, having seen the James Bond movies and all the Maxwell Smart series, will be very familiar with secret agent business and agree it's concerning that a bunch of hairy protestors can sneak into the dome of the satellite and hack it about, while the spies, presumably, are busy watching Sky TV. Why else would they need such a big satellite dish?
The signal reception must be amazing. I bet they never get Rain Fade during Desperate Housewives.
Anyway, it's surprising that Maxwell Smart let it happen.
He must have been pre-occupied, de-briefing Ninety-Nine in the Cone of Silence at the time.
So it's hard to believe that these socks-in-sandals, herbal-tea sipping, long-haired hippie peace lovin' protestors could get one over the spies.
I mean, the spies are clever bastards. I know what 007 would have done, faced with the threat to his satellite dome from a hippie with a stanley knife – he'd have disarmed him with a fondue fork, while travelling at 120 miles an hour, with one foot in a helicopter and his tie caught in the door of a Jensen Healey; tied the protestor up using his own de-sandalled sock, and still had time to bed the nearest girl or two.
Alas, the world as become too PC and you're not allowed to touch a hair on the head of the poor wee protesters.
The result in this case is a message to every whacko out there, that it's okay to run around trashing stuff, as long as you can prove you believed you were doing it to save someone. Where will this end? Next thing you know, we'll have protestors boarding Japanese whaling ships in the Southern Ocean in the belief they're saving whales.
Okay, so that has already happened. See what I mean?
If only Joe 90 was still around, he'd know what to do. And if you can remember Joe 90, it's probably because you ARE about 90.

Okker Chokker
Cadbury, where the bloody hell are you?
The last bastion of independence from Australia has finally been breached. No, it's not the currency, nor the rugby nor the number of stars on the flag.
Alas, long suffering readers, it's our hallowed Moro bars. From this week, the first Australian-made Moro bars have reached our shelves. No longer are they produced by the dedicated folk in Dunedin, 145 of whom are now out of a job.
This is despite Pinky and Marshmallow Eggs still being made right here in Enzed, apparently they're not good enough to make the trip across the ditch. Makes the furore over Eskimos pale into insignificance, don't it?
The first thing alert readers may notice is a change in taste, according to the good people at Cadbury. This is presumably because Australians have no good taste. But I wonder how long it takes before the spelling is adjusted, with addition of an 'NZ” at the end to denote the product is destined for Nuzillun. The Aussie-sourced Moro bars will therefore be known as Moronz which, as many Kiwis understand, is the rightful name for most things emanating from that side of the Tasman.
Here at the Sun, we are awaiting our samples of Aussie-made Moronz, so we can spread them around our discerning readers to decide themselves whether the Ocka Choka measures up, or not. Of course we'll share!
In the meantime, any of you readers out there with good taste, send us your thoughts on the subject and we'll reward you with copious quantities of the product which I'm sure Cadbury will send, in response to this free plug. Otherwise, we'll have to go knocking on Whittaker's door to see what's cooking.
That's it for this week.
This newspaper will self-destruct in five seconds.